Brutal Vows

Chapter One~

Six months earlier

The familiar hum of the Pacific Ocean filled my ears as I stepped out onto our pool deck and lifted my face to the cobalt-blue sky. The early winter breeze teased my hair. To the west and down a steep cliff, the sea glistened all the way to the horizon, as if the surface was sprinkled with millions of sparkling diamonds.

“I hope you know that I'm proud of you."

I turned, seeing my mother coming closer. She was still wearing the dress she'd worn earlier today at my graduation. Despite her congratulatory words, lines of unease and concern sprouted from the corners of her eyes, showing in her tense jaw and pursed lips.

Proud of me. I was too. I'd done what I'd set out to do and finished my college degree in only three and a half years. It was an accomplishment that some women in my world never obtained.

Mom's lips turned upward. “It was always my hope that you'd have the chance to follow your dream." Her forehead furrowed between her brows. “I wanted that for Camila too."

My younger sister would graduate high school the following spring. She'd already received her acceptance for San Diego State, the school from where I'd graduated. “She'll have the same chance," I said dismissively. Thinking about my dream, I added, “My degree is only the beginning. I've received multiple offers for apprenticeships at some of the most prestigious art galleries in SoCal. I know you would like me to continue living at home, but I—"

As if a literal shadow fell over Mama's green eyes, her expression dimmed, silencing my words. “Your father wants to speak to you."

“Now? I need to change for the party."

Mom nodded. “Yes, now."

“Do you know what it's about? Is there a problem?" I'd noticed he seemed preoccupied earlier. That wasn't unusual, considering his responsibilities as a top lieutenant of the Roríguez cartel. There were always fires that required his attention. His preoccupation was something my siblings and I learned to live with early on.

Mom reached for my hand. “Life changes." She inhaled. “Emiliano understood his responsibilities." She was speaking of my older brother. “There aren't college courses to help him with his future."

No, Em was male. His place was learning from our father. It was different for me. I was a woman. Tilting my head and smiling, I replied, “You know Patron would never allow women in the cartel, not doing what Papá and Em do."

She inhaled and gave my hand a squeeze. “Hear your father out. There are more responsibilities than being a soldier."

It was my turn to furrow my brow. “What are you saying?"

“Go. Your father is waiting."

My heartbeat quickened as I slid the glass door aside and walked into the house. The level of noise increased with the numerous people scurrying from here to there. Lola, our housekeeper, directed the workers and caterers as they set up for my graduation party. With our furniture moved away, tables seemed to spring up like mushrooms amongst our holiday decor. Certain events required celebration. As one of the first college graduates of my generation in our family, today was one such event.

As I took in the people wearing black slacks and white tops hustling from place to place, I wondered again why this talk with my father couldn't wait.

“Buenos dias." The greetings came with smiles and nods from the busy workers readying for the influx of guests.

I recalled the hubbub for my quinceañera, the party that signified my becoming a woman. It was hard to believe that my party was eight years ago—my fifteenth birthday. Camila's was three years ago, yet I still thought of her as a child.

Climbing the front staircase, my heels clicked on the marble steps. Still wearing the white dress I'd chosen for my graduation, I made my way to the second floor. Papá's office was near the top of the stairs across an expansive landing. Two intimidating oversized doors acted as the barrier between his businesses and our family's home.

His and Mom's suite was to the left, and the children's wing was to the right. Even in our twenties, Em and I were still their children. However, moving out on my own was something I was ready to discuss.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in," Papá called.

Pushing the door inward, I took in my father seated behind his desk, the place where he could most often be found. The suit coat he'd worn to my graduation was draped over the back of his tall leather chair. His tie was loosened, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. As soon as I entered, he lifted his gaze to me, and a smile replaced his look of concern. “Cat."

“Mama said you wanted to speak to me before the party."

Papá nodded and stood. Walking around his desk he took one of the two chairs facing the large wooden monstrosity. He gestured to the other chair. “Have a seat. We need to talk."

Despite a twisting in my stomach, I did as he asked, smoothing the skirt of my dress over my knees, tucking the material around my legs, and crossing my ankles beneath the chair. A proper lady.

Papá sat back and exhaled. “Your mama and I are proud of you, Catalina. She wanted you to have your dream of education."

With my lips together, I nodded. I knew they were proud. I also knew something was happening with this talk. I fought the urge to encourage him to get on with it.

He continued, “I didn't want to concern you before your graduation. Times are changing. I've never lied to you about what we do, what our family does. We have our restaurants and clubs, and you know that as my daughter your loyalty is to Jorge Roríguez."

Loyalty was something we'd heard all of our lives. It wasn't difficult to agree. “Yes."

“Emiliano swore his life to the cartel—an oath that is unbreakable. As a woman, you're not asked to make the oath. Nevertheless, the loyalty is expected."

“Do you want me to work for one of the clubs or restaurants? I have offers—"

Papá lifted his hand. “Patron will be here this evening."

The small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as they always did when Jorge Roríguez was present, in the same way lightning rods alerted us to storms. “You didn't tell me." I feigned a smile. “That's nice of him to come for my graduation all the way from Mexico." The last time I'd seen him was at Camila's quinceañera.

“He had business in the States." He sighed. “There have been difficulties with Homeland Security and border crossings, but those are more manageable. The continued problems with the Russians and Taiwanese are getting worse. As of late, they've even tried to recruit our soldiers. Jorge believes it is time to make new alliances."

My mind was scrambling. “We have alliances with Uncle Nicolas and other top lieutenants."

“Sí," Papá replied. “We have our people, but Jorge has decided it's time to look for support outside the cartel, to other organizations."

“Outside the cartel?"

“There are organizations that want our product and in exchange will help protect what is ours."

I wiggled to the edge of the chair. “What other organizations are you talking about?"

“The Italian Mafia."

My eyes widened in wonder. “The cartel and the Mafia have never joined forces."

“This is a new era."

I'd never imagined a day when cartel members would trust the Mob.

Papá continued, “Jorge has taken his time to determine the best avenue. He's been in contact with capos from around the country. The Italians have their share of infighting, but as a whole, they're strong. Not as strong as us, but working together, we will be stronger."

“What does this have to do with me?"

Papá stood and gripped the back of the chair. “It has long been the practice within the cartel and for centuries with the famiglia, that the sincerest demonstration of unity is family. I spoke to Vincent Luciano—the capo of the Kansas City Famiglia—myself." Papá straightened his shoulders. “The deal we agreed to will unite the Roríguez cartel and the Kansas City Famiglia. Vincent Luciano is a legend in his own right. He's ruled KC for years with an iron fist. He's getting older and there are rumors about his health. Rumors are weak links in a chain of power. It's time for Vincent to step down and for his son, Dario, to take over as capo." Papá narrowed his dark gaze, seeming to judge my understanding. Finally, he added, “A single man is not as respected as one with a wife."

My mouth went suddenly dry. “A wife?"

“A single man goes into the position already showing weakness. Marriage shows stability."

“Papá, what does…?"

“The Italians marry young. Eighteen is preferable."

“Camila," I nearly shouted as I visualized my little sister. “No, Papá. She's been accepted at SDSU. She's too young to be married off. How old is Dario?"

“He's thirty-five."

“Thirty-five," I repeated. To an eighteen-year-old, thirty-five was ancient. “No, don't do that to her."

Papá shook his head. “Dario doesn't want to marry a child. Jorge offered a more mature woman. He offered you."

“He offered me?" How was that even possible? I wasn't his to offer.

Before I could say more, Papá lifted his chin. “It's done. I approved."

The buzz of a million bees hummed through my head as I stood. “I don't want to marry him either. What about Mireya?" She was my cousin—the daughter of Uncle Nicolas, another of Jorge's top lieutenants. Mireya was a year older than I am, and I honestly didn't want this to be her fate either, but I was grasping at straws.

“Mireya is not as beautiful as you, Cat."

“She is." We looked similar with our dark hair. Mireya had big brown eyes where mine were my mother's green.

“You know Mireya's history."

I did. Uncle Nicolas wasn't aware of Mireya's birth until she was nearly nine years old. Once he found out about her, he saved her from a horrific excuse of a mother. The specific details have never been shared with me, only that Uncle Nicolas wished he'd known sooner. Since he found her, Uncle Nicolas and Aunt Maria have loved her as their own. She's grown up in a life similar to mine, one of privilege, wealth, and the protection of the cartel.

“Your uncle has been spared the knowledge that Jorge thinks less of Mireya due to her birth mother. Patron told me that Mireya wouldn't be as significant of an offer as you. If Jorge had daughters, it would be right for his daughter to marry Dario, but he only has sons."

Marriage was supposed to be about love. “I don't want to do it. This isn't the old country." The more I pleaded, the more my pleas fell on deaf ears. “Please, Papá, say no."

“No one says no to Jorge."

I knew in the pit of my stomach he was telling the truth. No one said no to Patron and remained in good standing.

A thirty-five-year-old future capo of the famiglia.

I took a step toward the large desk and forced myself to stay upright. “This is done?" I wouldn't allow tears to flow. Maybe I had time to change the agreement. “When will we marry?"

“Soon. The date isn't set. Jorge wants to speak to you during the party tonight, in private. He expects to hear you verbalize your acceptance and appreciation of his offer."

Offer.

This wasn't an offer. An offer was followed by an honest response. Patron didn't want my honest response.

As a sour taste filled my mouth, Papá went on, “Your mother and I wanted you to be prepared for Patron's visit." He stood taller, squared his shoulders, and changed his tone to the one I'd heard him use with his soldiers. “Catalina, this is your opportunity to make us proud. You will accept as the polite and respectable woman you are."

Proud. I thought they were proud of my hard work completing my degree.

The art galleries.

My knees weakened as I felt the goals I'd worked to accomplish slipping away.

“Catalina?"

“What else do you know about Dario?" I asked.

Dario Luciano.

“He comes from a strong and wealthy family. He's first in line for capo of Kansas City."

“Is he kind?" I didn't know if the stories I'd heard about Mafia men—made men—were true. From experience, I knew my father and uncle were known for their cruelty, yet they had been good and fair to me, my siblings, and my cousins. Beneath their exteriors there were hearts. And then there were people like Patron. If he had a heart, it was black as coal.

Papá sighed. “I won't lie to you, Cat. According to Jorge, Dario became a made man at thirteen."

My nose scrunched. “What did he have to do to be a made man?"

“Kill. It's what is done to show strength. “

“Dario killed someone when he was thirteen?"

“Slit his throat. The man was a rat, a traitor. Vincent demanded Dario do the deed in front of other made men, to show his son's strength. Dario has had the nickname The Blade since he was a teenager."

The Blade.

“You want me to marry a murderer, one I've never met?"

Papá shook his head. “This isn't up for debate. Jorge made the deal. I spoke with Vincent and accepted the offer. I expect you to have a better attitude when you speak with Patron."

“Is there any way out of this?"

“Don't speak of a way out. Tonight, we'll learn more from Patron. His wife, Josefina, and their sons, Aléjandro and Reinaldo, will also be here tonight."

My teeth gritted together. I'd known Aléjandro and Reinaldo for most of my life. The oldest, five years older than I, made my skin crawl. While Emiliano had to get along with Aléjandro, I didn't. In my opinion, the man was an arrogant ass who used his daddy's name to prove his power. Oh yes, he'd probably also murdered.

I didn't need to look too far in this organization to find blood. It was on everyone's hands. I just never imagined it being on my husband's.

Pápa looked me up and down. “You're beautiful, Cat. Go and change for your party. Dario wants a woman, not a child. Your mother has a new dress for you, one that a woman would wear."

“Will Dario be here?"

“No, but you will show Jorge you've become a woman."

The thought made my stomach turn. “You're dressing me up like a w***e from one of your clubs to impress Patron?"

Papá's jaw clenched, and his palm contacted my cheek. “That's enough."

I lifted my fingertips to my cheek, more shocked than physically hurt.

Papá's voice hardened. “Insolence isn't acceptable. You will remember to whom you're speaking." His nostrils flared. “You, Catalina Ruiz, are not a w***e. You're a proper woman who understands when it's time she does what is expected of her. We have encouraged your vitality; do not make me regret the freedoms we've afforded you." And as if he needed to give me more incentive to comply, he added, “If those freedoms were a hindrance, I will put a stop to Camila's future schooling immediately."

Sucking in a breath, I pressed my lips together. “I will talk to the Patron."

“You will accept his offer with the graciousness it deserves. Dario Luciano will be a powerful man. You could do worse." His lips twitched. “Before you began university, Jorge suggested you marry his son."

“Aléjandro?" I said in disgust. That would be worse. “He's an arrogant ass."

“Catalina." His reproach was harsh, but I saw the twinkle return to his brown eyes.

“I'm sorry, Papá. He is."

“He isn't your concern. Dario is. Now go. I want you looking your best when Patron arrives."